The Butchers
by benedictcumonmybaps
Summary: AU: Sebastian Moran works in a butcher shop, a boring and not too well paying job. He does, however, get to watch his next door neighbor from time to time; meeting James Moriarty is one of the best and worst things he has ever done.


It was slow going in the shop that day.

To be honest, it was slow every day, not that Sebastian cared all too much. He tilted the cigarette up with his teeth as he leaned on the cold glass case in front of him, forearms crossed a couple inches from the wrist, gloves a size too large hanging from his hands. He usually didn't get too much foot traffic in the morning, so tending the shop was dull as hell. Sometimes he wondered why he even opened this place, but…it was a living. He supposed. Not much of one, really.

He perked up when he saw that man again, taking his usual route in front of the store's large front windows proudly displaying "Moran's Butcher Shop" in bold, backwards letters. He wasn't sure if the man noticed, but he did. Every day the sharply dressed businessman walked in front of the store, crossed the street without the aid of a crosswalk, got tea and an apple before turning back around to complete the morning route. At lunch he would drive out in a sleek, fully-restored Morgan Plus 4. He wasn't much for subtlety, Sebastian assumed.

The cigarette found itself between Sebastian's fingers as he watched the man hesitate before the windows, turning to look at the name as if he'd never seen the place before. The butcher flicked some ash out in front of the glass, waiting with something that felt like suspense as he saw the man smile a little to himself, his hands tucked in his pockets before walking inside.

"Quaint," he hummed, watching Sebastian lean back, cigarette back between his lips as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Y' think so." It was meant to be a question, really, but it didn't come out that way. He had a problem with most of his speech coming out in statements. The man looked almost…amused, leaning back on his heels a moment as his gaze flicked down to the meat on display.

"Soooo…" the man said, breaking a silence that had settled none too comfortably between them. "…does this job make you happy?" Sebastian had been watching the man in the suit the whole time, and only now noticed how close he'd gotten to the chilled display case.

"Not this part," Sebastian said, eyebrow raising slightly, a lightly faded but still visible scar rising along with it. "Bloody fuckin' boring, actually. Why, are you interested in the position?"

A twitch of a smirk appeared on the man's lips, his shoulders pulling up for a split second. "What's the _un-_boring part?" he asked again, leaning onto the balls of his feet, his black, unwavering eyes boring into him. Sebastian had his answer as to why the man didn't seem to have any friends.

"I get to hunt the game," he finally answered, taking the cigarette from his lips, letting the smoke curl out of his mouth and drift towards the poorly-lit ceiling.

The man made an 'oh my' face, or something akin to it, his hands slipping from his pockets to rest clasped behind his back. "Exciting."

"…yeah. Very."

"What's the biggest game you've ever hunted?"

The question wasn't unexpected, really - that is, it was sort of related to what they were just talking about. That didn't make it any less strange. Or intriguing. Sebastian took a moment, head tilted, cigarette lazily burning its way down to the filter.

"…boar."

"Reeally," the man said, his tone suggesting he had just been told something very, very interesting by a five year old child. "And why did you choose that?"

Sebastian finally took his eyes away from the suit, idly scratching the side of his neck. "Because it nearly gored me. Cute little dent in my side and all."

"Mmhm." The man started to pace in front of the limited selection, eyes flickering lazily between cuts and labels. "Do you ever think of hunting something…bigger? Possibly more dangerous, given certain circumstances…"

"…I'm not sure I want to hear what you're going to propose."

"Oh, you will," he hummed, turning to Sebastian with a cold, unfeeling sneer. A shiver went through the butcher's spine, though he wasn't sure it came from fear. There was something else, something new. Something he only felt when he was looking down the scope of his rifle. Then, it was gone. The minute, condescending glimmer of a smirk was back on the man's lips, this time his hand coming out to slide a card across the top of the display case. "Do pay a visit. You ought to know where I work by now…you've watched me long enough."

Sebastian turned the card over in his hand as he had for the five minutes after the man had left. The front read, in friendly, deeply embossed red ink, 'Brook Insurance Agency' in sixteen point font, with smaller, slightly darker lettering beneath spelling out a Richard Brook, a phone number, and an address.

The back had, at one point, been blank and lightly matte like the rest of the card. Now it held writing in black pen, slanted slightly to the left in wide, open strokes. He vaguely remembered an article about handwriting analysis…but nothing sprang to mind. He ignored it, focusing on what was written instead.

'James Moriarty. Next-door neighbor. Top floor, ring twice. Open all hours.'

Sebastian pressed his lips to either side of what was left of his cigarette, idly looking over the card for the umpteenth time. He wasn't really looking at the card, honestly, but he was considering its contents. If he were to follow that probably unstable man back to his apartment above the offices he knew were next door, he might be in for a most likely unpleasant encounter that might result in an unpleasant evening. If he stayed here, however…his evening would be no more pleasant and a lot less interesting. He flipped the card into his back pocket, turning back to get to work slicing ham into workable pieces. Open all hours…he'd see about that.

The staircase was narrow and steep, winding upwards in a circular pattern that ended at the fifth floor. Sebastian didn't stop to think about how beautiful the building might have been; all he could think about was how fucking annoying this staircase was. How James…or whatever his name was managed to climb this every day was a mystery.

He did stop, however, when he noticed the door at the top of the stairs had been left open. How long had it been that way? This Moriarty must have been really fucking trusting…or unstable, that word popping back into his mind once more. He shrugged the thought off and went inside, fingertip brushing against the cool steel resting comfortably in his pocket. He wasn't stupid enough to go into this without some sort of protection. Considering James' size and build, from what he could see, he could physically overpower him, sure. But being strong wasn't everything. Sebastian knew that better than most.

A man knelt in the middle of what might have once been a living room, hands tied behind his back, a gag harshly pulling at the corners of his mouth. His skin was bruised and bloody, though some of the blood had already dried, covering where the cuts might have been. Sebastian found himself stopped in the doorway.

"Ah, Moran. Come in, close the door behind you. That's a good boy."

Sebastian might have gotten mad at being called a "boy" had he not still been focused on the wild-eyed captive struggling in the middle of the plastic-covered floor. He glanced at Moriarty, head tilting slightly towards the man. "This yours?"

"Hm? Ah….yes. That." Sebastian didn't expect the venom that came out of the last word, a sharp contrast to his normal, almost drunken tone. He couldn't help but stare. "That…is your problem."

"It's…" Sebastian started, but he understood. There was no use asking. It made him wonder just how long this man had actually watched him, how much he'd actually seen. There was no doubt in his mind that Moriarty knew all his secrets, down to every gory detail.

"Oh…? Ah yes…there you go. I was wondering when you would finally realize," James hummed, a content little smile on his lips as he clasped his hands behind his back, pacing. "Took you a while. You watch me, I watch you. It's only fair, isn't it?" Sebastian could feel breath against his neck, only for a moment, before the man walked past. "And I've had a lot to watch. But we can talk about this later. This problem - _your_ problem - has seen what you do. Almost ruined everything, didn't he?" Sebastian looked at James, catching a smug look settle onto the man's dark features. His eyes, though….his eyes stayed dark. The butcher wondered if he would ever see anything but emptiness in them.

He turned back to the groveling man, watching his eyes grow indignant and accusing, filled with recognition and fear. Sebastian never tortured; it wasn't in his agenda. He only took pleasure from the death, not the pain. Well…not any more pain than necessary.

Hope had no time to settle in the victim. Sebastian took two steps towards him, the butterfly knife already out of his pocket and in his hand, the blade burying itself deep in the man's throat. Sebastian watched his eyes widen, panic taking over everything in him as the knife twisted and cut, leaving his head unsupported as it bobbed back, blood flowing down his chest, over the already ruined suit. Moran stepped back, leaving the knife buried in the man, his gaze only flickering away when he couldn't hear the pathetic attempts at breathing any longer.

"A bit messy, don't you think?" Sebastian turned, focusing quickly on the man behind him, the one still left breathing.

"Want me to try again?" he murmured, moving in against Moriarty, watching those black eyes for any sign of fear. He didn't get the satisfaction.

"You think I'd let you kill me that easily?" James hummed, that smile reappearing on his lips. Sebastian didn't see fear, but he did see something. He thought it might be excitement.

The knife slid across Sebastian's ribs as he turned a moment too late, the blade ripping through cloth and flesh. He didn't wince; he didn't have the time. His hand found Moriarty's wrist and latched on, twisting it almost hard enough to break, though the knife stayed firmly in his grip. That is, until he switched to his left hand. He was far quicker this way, far more dextrous, catching Sebastian in the shoulder. Moran grit his teeth, pressing against the knife until it was firmly lodged in him before twisting it out of Moriarty's grip, snapping his fist at the man's jaw for his trouble. James stumbled back, caught off guard; Sebastian took the moment to pull the knife out of his shoulder, slamming Moriarty against the wall, knife pressed against his rapidly beating pulse.

A cough turns into a laugh, and soon Sebastian hears muffled chuckling pouring out against the wall.

"Ahah…mm…I knew I chose right," Moriarty half-mumbles against the plastic-covered wallpaper, the knife still in his right hand falling to the floor. "Now, you might want to let me go…unless you want to bleed out on my floor."

The needle slid easily into Sebastian's flesh, though stung less and less with every new incision. By the time Moriarty tugged at the last stitch, he could barely feel it. The bandage was on and Sebastian was taking another slug of whiskey, setting the bottle none too carefully on the floor beside him.

"Careful, Sebby. You might open this back up," Moriarty hummed, earning him a disgruntled snort from the man sitting in front of him.

"Don't call me that," he growled as James glanced up, his face inches from Sebastian's.

"Why not." God, Sebastian hated that smirk. He leaned in, grazing his teeth against Moriarty's lip before shoving him to the ground. He heard that chuckle again before the breath was knocked out of it, and he cut it off before James had a chance to start again. "Mmn….careful there, you might rip your stitches…"

Sebastian ignored him. His fingers found Moriarty's tie and ripped it off, prying the buttons of his shirt loose as he bit into his throat hard enough to make him hiss. He felt James' fingers dig into his shoulders, narrowly missing his wound as closely-cropped nails dug into his skin, dragging down his back.

"Watch it," Moran muttered, stopping whatever protest James might have had with a rushed kiss. His hands are already working on undoing the man's hundred-dollar pants, trailing his lips to Moriarty's neck and collarbone. His hands find a firm grip on the cloth and he pulls everything down, fresh scratch marks stinging his back.

It looked like James was about to speak again and Sebastian leaned up, biting Moriarty's lip hard enough to bleed. Moran heard something he thought might be a whimper as he shoved the man's legs up. He hoped he hadn't heard a whimper.

His thoughts were torn away when he felt put his hands on his wounds; one on a scar on the lower right of his abdomen when he'd nearly been torn open, the other gingerly pressed against his new bandage. He felt fingers squeeze and pain erupted from his shoulder, but he didn't flinch. He'd been through worse; that, and he didn't want to give James the satisfaction. He reached up to spit in his hand before reaching back down to where clothes had used to be. That would have to do for lube, he supposed. And Moriarty deserved it.

"God, you're so vulgar," James murmured breathlessly, his breath catching when Moran pushed into him. Something louder escaped his lips. Sebastian watched his face contort with pain, and…something else. That ecstasy he'd seem before, that excitement…he could see it now, written all over his face, battling with pain that settling into a slow ache. It hurt Moran too, of course, but pain is something he had dealt with all his life. To see someone who liked inflicting pain so readily without experiencing much of it…now that was something Sebastian liked to watch.

His hand snaked to the nape of Moriarty's neck, gripping the slicked down hair and pulling without hesitation, his hips starting a jolting rhythm. Sebastian felt the man writhe underneath him, hips arching, pained sounds mixing in with pleasurable ones and burdened breathing. Nails dug into his flesh, bloodied fingers tracing over old scars and open wounds. Moran dug his fingers into James' hip, bruising the pale skin as he felt his body move against Moriarty's body, with his body. He couldn't remember a time he'd wanted to hurt and keep someone so much.

Sebastian's hip gave an involuntary twitch that dragged a half-surprised moan from James' lips, their bodies arching hard enough to make pain splinter from Moran's ribs. He felt a strangled warmth seep through him and pool at the center of his hips; his teeth found the skin on Moriarty's chest and bit hard enough to break the surface. He didn't remember James pulling him into a rough and messy kiss, all blood and clashing skin as they hit their climax, one after the other. Breathing finally becomes stable once more as Sebastian pulled back, hands sliding along the man's bruised skin.

"Mm…I'm not going to have to stitch that again, am I," Moriarty mumbled, fingertips idling over the ripped stitches on Sebastian's side. The butcher smirked, very faintly, and shook his head.

"I'm on my own now, boss," he sighed, climbing to his feet to start the search for some clothes and another bandage. The cut can wait until he gets home; he is right next door, after all. He glanced back and James was already staring at him with steady, unblinking eyes.

"I'll tell you when you can come back, Sebastian. You'll have a nice little present waiting for you tomorrow. Put it to good use, will you?"

Sebastian wakes up the next morning, his body protesting any inclination to get out of bed. His hand finds a bottle and he sits long enough to take a sip before getting up, ready (or not) for another day's work. Maybe, he thinks, he can take the day off. As soon as he reaches the ground floor he notices a package sitting at the back door of the shop. It's wrapped in brown paper with a neat little twine bow, a note pinned to the top. He sets the paper aside for the moment, bringing the package inside before setting it on the cutting table, carefully unwrapping it. James seems like the bomb type…though, all things considered, he could have been dead already. And last night…well. He wasn't a romantic, but it's usually not nice to kill someone you just had sex with.

A hint of a smile picks at the corner of Sebastian's lip as he traces his fingers over the Dragunov variant Tiger hunting rifle, complete with leather sling, magazine pouch, pre-loaded magazines, cleaning kit and telescopic sight. He picks it up to test the weight, looking over the gun with some satisfaction before remembering the note. The rifle is laid carefully back in its case as Sebastian flips open the note, his smile growing that much wider


End file.
